Happy Sunday. This week I'm back with another short story, the fourth one of the year. I do this from time to time, and you can find the last short story (Flowers) here, and lots more in the back catalogue of this blog (I recommend Maisy and The Observed if you'd like pointers on where to start). This week’s story is called Don't cry for me, and I wrote it in response to a prompt about finding the unexpected in times of solitude. Please enjoy, and as always, do let me know what you think.
— Don't cry for me —
It has been nine days since I first set foot in this room. I used to think this was my idea of hell. I’d always enjoyed being around people, feeding off the chaotic energy, and getting high on the hustle and bustle of city life.
Then the outbreak happened. At first we carried on as usual. I even went on holiday. When I got back, there were airport officials in hazmat suits screening passengers with scary-looking gadgets. An unnecessary overreaction, but I figured if it brought peace of mind, like when we wore face masks and socially distanced during Covid, then I didn't mind playing along.
That was until the thing beeped and flashed incessantly as they held it to my face. They spoke into their radios, then pulled me to the side, all the while refusing to answer my questions. Forty-five minutes later, I found myself in a facility with the most sterile-looking walls I’d ever seen. I’ve been here ever since.
I tried to get online but there was no cellular reception. We were in a dead zone apparently, and the Wi-Fi wasn’t set up because they hadn’t anticipated any positive tests so early. Three days went by like this. Me, losing my mind and desperately longing for connection as I grappled with a fever, nausea and muscle fatigue. Them, trying and failing to placate me.
On day four, it was like someone flicked a switch in my brain. For the first time in forever, I sat with my thoughts, really sat with them. I meditated, listened to my inner voice, and despite the worsening symptoms, I was at peace. It took a while to see it for what it was – joy in solitude. When they said the Wi-Fi was now working, I no longer needed it. I’d rediscovered the joys of analogue. Paper novels. Mindful journaling. Bird watching through the glass windows.
This illness notwithstanding, the last few days have been bliss, and I can’t think of a better way to go. It will happen any day now. Turns out I picked up a lethal strain of the virus on holiday. There’s no cure, at least not yet. Chances of recovery are like playing the lottery, and the doctors say I haven’t won this time. If there’s a silver lining, it’s that I haven’t given it to anyone in the country. Everyone I could possibly have infected has been tested, I’ve been told.
I used to think this was my idea of hell, but it’s been heaven on earth. If you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer here, but I want you to know I left on a high.
Don’t cry for me.
My new album, Hope on the Horizon, is out everywhere now. Not a fan of streaming and want to support my music? You can download a digital version or buy a CD now here. Thank you for listening, spreading the word, and reaching out to share your thoughts. I appreciate it. Have a great week.